


Stitch in Time

by Raisintorte



Category: Pushing Daisies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-24
Updated: 2007-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:24:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1631351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raisintorte/pseuds/Raisintorte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emerson Cod was 16 years, 23 weeks, 8 days, and 42 minutes old when he learned how to knit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stitch in Time

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Kimanneb and Pixieonacid for betaing.
> 
> Written for firstgold

 

 

At this very moment, in the town of Bumbley, Emerson Cod was 16 years, 23 weeks, 8 days, and 42 minutes old.

This was the moment when teenage Emerson decided to learn how to knit. Emerson's life up until this moment had been unremarkable. His parents, both living, worked middle income jobs, and they lived in a middle income home, in a middle income town. He went to average school where he was a quite average student. 

This was all just fine with teenage Emerson. He did not want to be remarkable. He was content with the status quo until the week his parents decided to go on vacation and sent him to stay with his grandmother.

At this moment, Emerson's grandmother, Noreen, a widow, was 65 years, 34 weeks, 13 days, and 23 minutes old. She was a curmudgeonly old lady who did not like other people. She had not been particularly happy about having her grandson foisted off on her for a week so her daughter and feckless son-in-law could go gallivanting around the country. 

Emerson had not been particularly happy to be foisted off on his grandmother. She chain-smoked and smelled oddly like ginger and moth balls. Emerson did not like the smell of ginger and moth balls. 

The first day of his stay, he was forced to drink prune juice and eat runny eggs while watching _The Lawrence Welk Show_ in a ratty old chair in his grandmother's living room. He would have left and done something else, but there was nothing else to do. All of Emerson's friends lived near his parents and he had not brought any homework or other distractions with him.

The second day of his stay, his grandmother made him go to bingo with her at the fire hall. The normal caller, one Marvin Daily, was 79 years, 45 weeks, 2 days, and 4 minutes old and tended to forget what he was doing or what board they were playing. So when Mille Crowper, Bingo Club Chair, saw young Emerson, she declared him perfect for the job and Emerson spent an evening calling Bingo. 

To the regular attendees at St. Christopher Fire Hall's Monday Night Bingo, it was the best bingo night they had ever had. To Emerson, it was hell.

The third night of his stay, Noreen made Emerson sit in the chair next to her and had him hold her yarn while she knitted a brown and orange scarf for his father. Emerson could not take his eyes off the gleaming needles as they knitted and purled their way into a scarf. 

Emerson decided he needed to learn how to knit. 

The fourth night of Emerson's stay, as he sat in the chair next to Noreen, breathing in the wretched smell of ginger and moth balls, he watched. And he learned.

Later that night, after Noreen had gone to bed, teenage Emerson snuck out into the living room, picked up the discarded skein of yarn, and the knitting needles, and tried to imitate the moves he had been watching his grandmother do for two days. He dared not ask her to teach him, for she would likely say no, but Emerson wanted to learn. 

His first attempt was a disaster, but it was a start. When he saw the light of day peeking through the windows, Emerson unraveled the long blob of yarn and rerolled it into a perfect ball. He snuck back into his bedroom and was in his bed when his grandmother came to wake him at the early hour of 7:00am.

He repeated this for the next three nights he was at his grandmother's; she didn't notice he dozed off during their afternoon TV, and he got to knit every night. 

The seventh night, the night before his parents were to return, Emerson finally knitted something that resembled a scarf. It was brown and orange, the only colors his grandmother had, but to Emerson, it was glorious. Teenage Emerson hated to unravel it when the morning light appeared, but he did not want to be caught. 

Through knitting, Emerson had finally found something he wanted to excel in, a hobby if you will, and from that moment on, whenever Emerson felt stress or anxiety, he would sneak back to his room, pull his knitting supplies from under his bed, and knit. 

 


End file.
